


Who Shall Not be Returning?

by vindictas



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 17th Century, Backstories based on history, Character Analysis, Creative License, Descent into Madness, Eventual Romance, Existentialism, F/M, Fluff, Ghost romance, Guilt, Hints of 17th century literature, Historical Inaccuracy, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm not a history expert but I try, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, My First Fanfic, No Beta, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religion, Sea Shanties, Slow Burn, Spanish Translation, Stoic characters breaking, Supernatural Elements, Takes place before DMTNT, Touch-Starved, Villains that aren't villains, Violence, devil's triangle, fight me, have patience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vindictas/pseuds/vindictas
Summary: Captain Salazar’s pride was his downfall. Driven by ego in life, and now revenge in death, he and the crew of theSilent Maryare nowmuertos vivientes, living dead, coursing with hatred for the Sparrow and the quest for retribution. Now confined in the infamous Devil’s Triangle, Salazar and his officers await the day Jack Sparrow betrays the bewitched compass and sets them free so they can once again terrorize the sea, in search of pirate blood. However, as the crew aboard theSilent Maryresign to their doomed existence, they encounter someone, or something, within the triangle. The officers inform Salazar of glimpses of a masked specter, and mysterious whispers of songs that seem like a chorus of souls intoning in unison. What fate lies in store when the ill-fated crew and theirCapitáncome face to face with another inhabitant of this Hell on Earth?
Relationships: Armando Salazar/Original Female Character(s), Captain Salazar/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 24





	1. Despertamiento

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written. I've read them for years, but never actually written one myself. I have not written fiction in a long while, so my skills may need a bit of dusting off (especially dialogue). And, I am not a native Spanish speaker, so if I make any mistakes, please let me know. I tried to do as much historical research as I could, however, I will be taking some creative liberties and will let you know when I do so.  
> Let's be honest, Javier Bardem/Salazar carried the movie on his shoulders. The movie was lacking, but I loved his character so much, I needed to do something. So, we're about to get real analytical, and real philosophical.
> 
> And yes, I got the title from Sea of Thieves.
> 
> P.S. I'm a university student so please be patient with updates :)
> 
> “Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.” The non-original characters used in this work (Captain Salazar, the crew of the Silent Mary, Jack Sparrow, etc.) are creations of Walt Disney Picture’s Pirates of the Caribbean and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, directed by Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg and story by Jeff Nathanson and Terry Rossio, and therefore property of the Disney Company.

> “The evil that men do lives after them;  
>  The good is oft interred with their bones.”  
>  -Willian Shakespeare, _Julius Caesar_

_Cómo podría ser esto,_ Salazar thought, astonished and filled with rage at this sudden twist of fate. _That Sparrow,_ he seethed, _that damned Sparrow!_ His fuming eyes met with ones filled with mischievous pride, young hands twirling that unusual compass. _Pride._ Usually the pride was his in the end, _el Matador del Mar_ , hunter of pirates and sailing the flagship of the Spanish armada. And now… now it was the filthy pirates who were filled with pride, at the Capitán’s expense. _Esto no puede ser,_ he thought incredulously, but it was far too late to turn back now.

  
The _Silent Mary’s_ massive hull was sailing straight for the dark, craggy triangle. Salazar broke eye contact with the Sparrow as his eyes fell on the eerie entrance, Lesaro and Moss’s gazes also transfixed on the mythical gate as the rest of the crew ran around the deck of the ship in a last-ditch effort to somehow turn the hulking vessel around. Salazar knew there was no escape, no salvation. The _Silent Mary_ could not possibly pull off an outlandish maneuver such as the pirates pulled off with their much smaller vessel. The Captain could see a floor of stalagmites in the murky water. “La munición,” he muttered under his breath as his heart sank and his hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles blanched. The ammunition… an impact like that would mean…

  
_Crrr-ack._

  
_Ting, ting, ting_ -

  
The hull of the naval vessel groaned as if in agony as if it knew what fate lied in store for her and her crew. Polished wood fractured and splintered underneath their feet. Salazar knew there would be a slim chance of getting out of this alive. He silently prayed to God for mercy, a miracle, something, _anything._ His breath was stolen from his lungs, already filled with smoke, as his body was thrown against the solid helm. Some of the crew hit the deck as the ship came to a halt in a violent crash, others thrown against railing as the hull’s complaining grew louder and louder until-

  
_Fzzzz-BOOSH_

  
The first fiery explosion ignited near the bow, decimating the forecastle deck and the levels underneath. Salazar could only gape in horror, and fury, as his _Silent Mary_ was being obliterated before his eyes. He felt as if paralyzed, as all he could do was watch the inferno swallow his ship, the flames licking at the wood like a lascivious demon from Hell. The heat caressed his face, bits of burning debris raining down, blistering his copper skin. Blast after blast erupted from the lower decks, slowly encroaching on the quarterdeck. The flames spread to the sails, consuming them with a fervent hunger that could not be satisfied. And the men, dear God, the men. Even for _el Matador_ , it was too much to bear. The terrified screams cut short by furious eruptions, the smell of boiling flesh and singed uniforms, the sight of their faces contorted in agony and panic. One of the crewmen was armed with a bucket, struggling in vain to put out the blazing inferno, as wreckage from a detonation tore through his torso, sending him flying into cinder and smoke. Man after man was scorched, torn asunder, blasted limb from limb, submerged in hellfire.

  
A deafening groan brought Salazar out of his stupor, as the ship’s broken main mast was swinging at lightning speed straight for his head. This sight was enough to lift him out of his frozen state and move his lead feet. He ran in the only direction available- away. Salazar hoped that he could leap overboard and survive, before the solid wood of the mast could reach him.

  
There was a sudden, sharp pain at the base of his head, and the feeling of weightlessness.

  
The smell of ash and smoke burning the lining of his lungs.

  
Scorching hot water.

  
Blackness.

  
_Nothing._

  
_____

  
Salazar’s eyes opened to the black expanse of void. _Purgatorio._ He remembered his final moments in vivid detail, before coming to the realization that he was still floating amidst the wreckage of the _Silent Mary_. _So I am not dead,_ he grasped as he felt the cracked canvas of his head with the tips of his fingers, and watched as bits of ash drifted off his skin, _but cursed_. It was the triangle, he understood, as he made his way to the water’s surface seemingly without effort. _The triangle… the triangle, the Sparrow, the_ pirates. His head breached the water without a need for air. Something within him had changed. He was consumed with a fire, as if the fire that destroyed the Silent Mary was burning inside him. A fire of hatred. A fire of resentment, guilt, the need for revenge. The need for blood. The blood of a Sparrow.

  
Salazar climbed the splintered wreck of the _Silent Mary’s_ hull, up to the still smoldering deck. Most of the lower decks were completely ruined, leaving only a skeletal ribcage. The wood was now black, cracked, and charred. Some of the crew on the decks were awaking from their death, others making their way like Salazar had. The men were looking at each other, and looking down at themselves, feeling the edges of their ghostly wounds where body parts should be, waving their hands through the negative bodily space. Salazar made his way to the Quarterdeck, using his rapier and cane as support for his hunched frame. He could hear panicked muttering and gasps. It seemed that his whole crew, men he knew in life, were now awaking from death into a new cursed existence.

  
Lesaro approached the helm slowly, as if each step he took he was questioning whether or not he should be taking it, whether he was alive or dead. “ _Capitán,_ ” he uttered breathlessly, “what has happened to us?” The look on Lesaro’s face was of disbelief, questioning, anguish. Despite the rage broiling in Salazar’s chest, he felt remorse. The blame was all his. In his blind desire for power over the seas, his hubris had led him to his demise, their demise, except they are doomed to their demise forever. It would have been a blessing to die, it was as if this were some cruel joke from God. Salazar looked out over his crew, all attention on him. Some of them had lost limbs, had holes in places there shouldn’t be, some had half a face or no face at all, and a few had not even a body to speak of. His loyal crew in life, now damned to a living Hell… because of him.

  
“ _Lo siento… lo siento mis companeros,_ ” he said apologetically, “I have failed you, in my reckless pursuit. I have failed you as _Capitán._ After hundreds of victories, I am bested by this young pirate boy with a silly compass,” he shook with rage, lungs singed and blackened from soot, his voice now accompanied by an odd wheeze or hiss. He angrily stabbed his rapier down upon the blackened wood with a resounding thud, “I should not have been so careless in my chase. And now... we are cursed.” The company gazed up at their ghostly _Capitán,_ his black, sooty hair billowing around his fractured face. Black tears and prayers fell upon the deck of the once-magnificent flagship, as the stoic men began to accept the reality that they are now condemned to a cursed eternity as _muertos vivientes_. Their families, friends, wives, children, left behind with nothing but a life in Hell ahead. No longer will they taste food upon their tongue, or wine on their lips, or feel the touch of a lover, or the ground beneath their feet. But they were loyal to their _Capitán_ and their beloved _España_ until death, and beyond.

  
“How could God allow such a thing?” Magda implored. Silence fell upon the deck as Salazar’s gaze lifted from his undead crew to the vast stretch of cursed mire surrounding them. No sunlight touched this land, the air still and thick with the atmosphere of death and damnation.

  
“God is not here,” Salazar answered. The men looked to each other in weary disbelief as those words passed their captain’s lips, but the evidence laid before them was uncontestable. This was the land of ghosts and beasts. In life, as men of faith, rumors of curses and ghost stories were for heathens and pirates, not the navy of Spain’s divine king. Now, it seemed, they were a ghost story of their own. Their own Hell on Earth, abandoned by God and saved by a curse. _The compass_ … Salazar thought back with wrath to the sight of the Sparrow smugly twirling the compass round and round. He could have sworn that thing had a mind of its own, its own intelligence, as he saw it in his mind's eye in slow motion, round and round like a clock counting down until the day of their freedom… “The compass,” Salazar realized aloud, “that pirate boy’s compass is what holds us here.”

  
“So, what now, _Capitán_?” the young officer Santos asked.

  
“We wait. We wait for the Sparrow to betray the compass and set us free, so we can hunt him down and turn the seas red with his blood” declared Salazar to his solemn crew, “We wait for revenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cómo podría ser esto= How could this be?  
> Esto no puede ser= This cannot be.  
> Purgatorio= Purgatory  
> Lo siento… lo siento mis companeros= I am sorry... I am sorry my companions.  
> Muertos vivientes= Living dead
> 
> This will serve as an introductory chapter, but things will definitely get interesting from here. Thank you if you've read til the end of the chapter! <3


	2. Aislamiento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salazar comes face to face with the ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue is hard. Bottom text.

> “Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear, to be we know not what, we know not where.” -John Dryden

Time passed differently here. There was no sunlight, no stars, not even wind penetrated the fortress of the damned. Compasses and equipment were no more than paperweights. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, then the days regressed into hours, the hours into minutes until the concept of time was beyond all recognition. The dismal environment was invariable, never-changing. The only sounds were the squawks and croaks of the other monstrosities and undead creatures of the triangle.

Salazar ordered an inspection of all that was left of the _Silent Mary_. Everything below the main decks was a hollow, skeletal mess. The thick curved framework was exposed like bone, shattered and splintered in places, leaving sharp edges of timber gaping like a cavernous maw. Panels of brittle wood still clung to the ribs of the creaking vessel. Above the ship’s hollow underbelly, the ship’s mighty forepeak, bowsprit, and figurehead remained, like a haunting sentinel ever watchful at the bow, spear in hand. The captain’s quarters, quarter galleries, and uppermost levels of the ship were shells of their former glory. The four watchtowers to the bow and stern still stood, their metal roofs left in ruins with panels missing and broken, allowing a view of the starless cave ceiling. The railings of the ship were fractured, fragments of the ship's walls had been blasted to smithereens, unable to withstand the pressure the explosions produced. The top of the mizzen mast was nowhere to be seen, the spanker sail yards were cracked where they attached to the mizzen mast, now holding only the burnt and ragged remains of the spanker sail. The foremast and its yard remained relatively unscathed, only the surface faced the brunt of the explosions, leaving patches of black and grey, the wood suffering a few fissures and splinters. The foresails and jibs attached to the bowsprit were burnt to shreds and threads. The main mast endured the worst from the disaster, split at the base like a lumber tree and suspended over the ship's starboard side, the main topsail yard sticking out of the cloudy depths, the mainsail decorated with the emblem of the great España now floating listlessly in the water. No surface of _La Maria Silenciosa_ was untouched by the flame’s hungry fingers, save the ship's cannons. Now exposed without gun ports, the number of cannons balanced precariously on planks of timber, their metal surfaces rusted and worn from the fire, but otherwise undamaged.

He then ordered a count off to assess what was left of his crew. It seemed all of them had survived, or rather, had been resurrected, he corrected himself. He felt relief, which then quickly devolved into guilt. Guilt that he had failed, guilt that he had condemned innocent men, guilt that he had singlehandedly wrenched eternal salvation away from the hands of virtuous men. _God is not here_. As soon as it appeared, the guilt weighing on his unbeating heart faded away and was replaced by red-hot rage. They would not be here if it were not for those filthy pirates and their curses. True, he had made a fatal mistake in the heat of the chase, but if those pirates had not taken to a life of crime and villainy, they would not be here in the first place. Piracy is what damned them, cursed them, brought them to this wretched circle of Hell. _And piracy is what will bring them out._ _One day_ , Salazar thought, _one day that idiot boy will betray that compass, as in his sinful nature. Betrayal, crime, treason. One day,_ pirata _._ He trusted his circle of officers shared the same hatred, the same mission and vision bestowed onto their shoulders by the great King of España. A sea of order, of peace, free of piracy and crime. This was their duty. He trusted his officers to keep order among the crew until that fateful day.

Every second was a second closer to liberation. Salazar resigned himself to waiting, cherishing thoughts of the Sparrow’s pleas for parlay, for mercy, his sputtering and last draws of breath as blood runs the length of his rapier, thoughts of seeing the Sparrow’s eyes glaze over, his body go limp, the sea rid of another pest. However, as time passed, Salazar realized the other shipmates were not as patient. As they lost track of time, some started pacing the deck of the shipwreck, counting their steps or the planks of wood they passed. Some took to counting and re-counting the stalagmites, formations, and other shipwrecks dotting the landscape. Some started naming the skeletal birds that sometimes circled the _Silent Mary_. Songs from their homeland were sung and resung until other men starting shouting _cállate!_ and _Oh no, no otra vez!_ when the songs started up again. As the cabin fever swelled, madness blighted the undead crew.

Lieutenant Lesaro briskly strode toward two shipmates near the front watchtowers, fervently pointing and waving their hands, their voices aggressively ascending and making the other crewmen on deck turn their heads languidly as they went about their menial tasks. The two men discontinued their dispute as they heard Lesaro’s commanding footsteps approaching, whirling their heads apprehensively toward the one-eyed officer.

“ _Que esta pasando, eh_?” Lesaro asked sternly with a deep scowl, grabbing the collar of the nearest one into a balled fist.

The man being held by an irritated Lesaro continued pointing, less intensely now. “The rocks, in the rocks, there’s- “

“ _Oficial_ , he is only seeing things, I keep trying to tell him there is nothing there but- “

“There is! There is, I saw it!” the man raised his voice at the other, earning a harsh jostle from Lesaro, continuing less brashly, “ _Teniente_ Lesaro, I swear, I saw blue eyes, blue eyes in those rocks over there, near that shipwreck! Staring straight at me, well, through me,” he remarked at his empty chest, “it sent _un escalofrío_ down my neck…” he looked at Lesaro with alarmed eyes. Lesaro loosened his grip on the navyman’s collar and fished out his pocket telescope, aiming it at the area indicated by the frantic man. He scanned the jutting rocks and far-off shipwreck. The skeptical man would have chided the younger, anxious sailor for wasting the officer’s time, if time wasn’t all they had in this dreadful place. Lesaro scrutinized the shipwreck with his good eye. It looked to be of Dutch making, but he could not tell what kind of ship it was. Not a pirate ship, as the colors still hung motionless and tattered atop the ship’s main mast. He spotted another shipwreck not far behind the Dutch vessel, but he could not see any distinguishing features.

Lesaro swiftly snapped his telescope closed. He addressed the younger man assuredly, “Listen to your shipmate, _marinero_. Nothing here is of any danger to us. It was, perhaps, just your mind playing a _truco_ on you, eh? You two are lucky it was me and not the _Capitán_ who put an end to this squabble.” The younger man nodded his head slowly, sparing a quick glance back at the ominous ruins, trying to convince himself that it was only a trick of the mind before returning to his station. As Lesaro turned from the ship’s bow, he felt as though a pair of eyes were drilling into the back of his head. He whipped around, but the two men had diverted their attention to their watchtower duties. He scanned the horizon as his abrupt movement garnered a few languid, puzzled looks. Lesaro turned around once more to report his findings to the formidable _Capitán_ , who would most likely not take the news of his crew going mad quite well.

He passed the ghostly crew as he made his way to the ship’s stern, the men going up and down the stairs between decks in monotonous, mindless repeats of their daily duties. Salazar was at the helm, where he was usually located, hoping that any passing second was the key to their liberty so he could once again sail _La Maria Silenciosa_ across the sea in search of vengeance. He was conversing with Officers Magda and Santos, so Lt. Lesaro stood at relaxed attention until he was acknowledged. Officer Magda had lost both legs in the explosions, leaving him a ghostly floating form, his face cracked and marred much like his _Capitán_ and the rest of the crew. Salazar’s eyes had changed from their deep, intense brown to a dull red, as if the fire inside him was but a mere bed of coals, empty and cold without their usual flame. Lesaro felt a pang of resentment toward those depraved pirates that led them to where they are, but he quickly stifled the emotions before addressing his commander.

“ _Teniente?_ ” Salazar rasped. Salazar, Magda, and Santos were both now centered on Lesaro.

“ _Capitán_ _,”_ the Lieutenant addressed his superior, “a man has claimed to see… _eyes_ … near a shipwreck,” he remarked with skepticism, “I am sure that it is nothing more than a mirage, but I thought it best to inform- “

“Blue eyes?” Santos interjected, “glowing?”

Lesaro was caught off guard by the younger official’s interruption. He had not said what color the man claimed to see. “ _Si_ , he said they were blue… How did you- “

“I have seen them, and others have too. I thought I was going insane, or maybe it was _demonios_ , or… something like us.” His voice tapered off, with a touch of odd hope, or possibly trepidation.

“ _Enough_ ,” Salazar’s sharp, hoarse voice cut through the discourse, something Lesaro could have predicted, “even if there is some… apparition out there,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand toward the triangle, “we have an entire ship equipped with the finest navymen of España, who can no longer be slain. There can be no harm done to us, and I will have no room for speculation and fear on this vessel.” The tone of the captain’s voice implied the discussion was over, for good. The officers exchanged glances. Lesaro and Magda appeared to agree with the captain, but the younger officer, although putting on a façade of confidence, felt uneasy. When he first saw those cold eyes, it felt like ice cutting under his skin. It was not the eyes that bothered him, it was… that it did not feel like one pair of eyes, but many. Many eyes concentrated on him. He tried to brush it off, but as he went about tediously pacing the decks of the vessel, he heard mutterings of blue eyes, and a dark, masked apparition in a uniform seen in the waters around the ship, quickly smothered by members of the crew as mere delusion or madness. _Ironic_ , he thought, _ghosts telling each other that they’re going mad for seeing ghosts_.

As time dragged on, hushed rumors intensified among the crew. Seeing as these speculations could not be quelled as more and more reports came to his attention, Salazar ordered a scouting party to survey the ruins of the old Dutch vessel. The small party was to be led by himself and Lieutenant Lesaro, his right hand. He could never admit it to himself, but he longed to break free of the torturous ennui. Along with the captain and the lieutenant, they would be accompanied by Santos and _Sargento_ Tacito Peno, along with a handful of other men. Sergeant Peno’s jaw and neck were gone, his torso and arms tore through leaving ribs and other bones bare, but he remained an excellent swordsman with keen ears.

Salazar left the next in the chain of command in charge of the _Silent Mary_ , Officer Magda, as they prepared to depart on their short expedition into the dismal, apocalyptic landscape. He was prepared to get to the bottom of whatever specter had taken an interest in infecting the minds of his men.

Santos did not let his dread show on the surface.

________

Water splashed beneath their feet as they disturbed the still, black waters of the triangle. In their cursed forms, they could traverse the route to the other vessel as if walking on land. Salazar peered into the depths as they maneuvered around the craggy structures between the _Maria Silenciosa_ and this unknown vessel. At one point, Lesaro could have sworn he saw movement in the shadowy depths but thought it best not to dwell on what may be thriving below as they pressed on.

“What do we do if we do meet something out there, _Capitán_?” Santos inquired.

“ _Trataremos ese problema en su momento_ ,” Salazar replied, “We do not know what we face or how many. We do not know if it is friend or foe. Most likely the latter.”

Santos pondered this. “In which case…?” he probed further.

Salazar came to a halt, his right hand gripping the hilt of his rapier, his left clasping his cane. He looked into Santos’ eyes with conviction, “We put an end to it,” he rasped.

“Si, _Capitán.”_ Santos responded, as they continued their journey.

The men had made it about three-quarters of the way to the wreckage when Peno raised his arm, motioning for them to stop. He held his hand to his one ear that was left, indicating for them to listen, then pointing towards the direction of the Dutch ship. The men quietened and strained their ears. The words danced on the edge of their hearing.

_“There were two lofty ships from old England came,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_One was the Prince of Luther, and the other Prince of Wales,_

_Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree.”_

Peno raised his eyebrows, only able to look to his Captain and the officers inquisitively. Salazar stood with curiosity, as there was not one but what seemed like a few voices emanating from the vessel’s wreckage in the distance. _So there is an entity… and more than one_ , he thought. It sounded like a lady's labored melody, as if struggling for dominance over a multitude of deeper, lyrical whispers.

“ _Aloft there, aloft!” our jolly boatswain cries,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_“Look ahead, look astern, look aweather and alee,_

_Look along down the coast of the High Barbaree.”_

_There’s nought upon the stern, there’s nought upon the lee,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_But there’s a lofty ship to windward, and she’s sailing fast and free,_

_Sailing down along the coast of the High Barbaree._

_“Oh, hail her, Oh, hail her,” our gallant captain cried,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_“Are you a man-o’-war or a privateer,” said he,_

_“Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree_.”

Captain Salazar, spearheading the troop, led the men further into the murky mire, eerie mist parting around their legs. Up close, Lesaro could now tell that the vessel was also of naval variety as cannons dotted the ship’s sides, neglected and rusty. It seemed to have seen its share of battle as sections of the hull were damaged by cannon fire and partially submerged beneath the water. Otherwise, nothing had tarnished the vessel save the passage of time. It was about the same size as the _Silent Mary_ but lacked the manned watchtowers of the Spanish flagship. Lesaro and the others had been so busy examining the exterior of the ship as they approached that they took no notice of the wraithlike figure staring intently at them through the broken planks of the vessel walls. The choir continued.

“ _Oh, I am not a man-o’-war nor privateer,” said he,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_“But I’m a salt-sea pirate a-looking for my fee,_

_“Cruising down the coast of the High Barbaree.”_

_Oh, ’twas broadside to broadside a long time we lay,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_Until the Prince of Luther shot the pirate’s masts away,_

_Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree._

_“Oh, quarter, Oh, quarter,” those pirates then did cry,_

_Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we;_

_But the quarter that we gave them – we sunk them in the sea,_

_Coming down along the coast of the High Barbaree_ …”

The chilling voices suddenly faded as the band of men neared the weathered vessel. Still seeing no signs of shrouded figures, Salazar silently motioned for the spectral men to board the derelict ship. They climbed the rotting ropes with ease, moving like otherworldly predators swarming their prey. One by one they landed lightly on the creaking deck. The only sound that penetrated the air was the deafening footsteps of the ghouls on the deck. The ship’s bilge and part of the hold had taken water and were slowly decaying away, bolstered only by a bed of sharp rocks, the large vessel leaning slightly to starboard against an even larger pillar. The polish of the deck’s wood had long since been eroded away, the normal rich hues adorning the ship now dulled and dying.

Knowing the drill, Salazar’s men began to fan out and scour the ship. Salazar made his way to the captain’s quarters, not sparing the sound of his rapier and cane hitting the deck as he closed the distance to the door hanging off its hinges. Above the doorframe was a decorative golden plaque that was oxidized and dark. _Zeelandia_. Passing through the ruined entrance, the dim cabin scarcely came into view. Streams of dwindling light barely broke through shattered, hazy window panes, only just touching the remains of the room. It was a scene frozen in time. There was a table and chairs in the middle of the room, made of rich cherry wood. The china, silverware, and a large pitcher were overturned, some of the porcelain shattered. Oriental rugs, dressers, and chests dotted the dim room. Baroque paintings, decorative swords, and trophy hides adorned the peeling walls, covered in dust. Bookshelves were overturned, pages strewn about the floor, now brittle from exposure to the elements. An empty display case rested eerily on a small round table. A planning desk was in the corner opposite the door under the windows. Salazar scanned the maps, battle plans, inventories, and letters of correspondence. They were speckled with… _blood_. He almost missed the blemishes on the pages as they were almost completely faded and dried. He tried to read the letters, but the words were faded, the paper distressed and pale, nearly falling apart in Salazar’s fingers.

As Salazar studied the relics left behind, he wondered what happened to this crew. Obviously, not what had happened to the crew of _La Maria Silenciosa_.

Ethereal whispers broke through his thoughts. Barely audible murmurings from the dark edges of the abandoned cabin. The Captain whirled, his hair hovering ethereally around his harsh face. He was alone in the quarters. He pierced the floor of the room with ire. Whatever was lingering on this vessel was here, and it was toying with him, teasing him. Or maybe he was merely imagining things in his fervor to put an end to what was distracting his men from their purpose, voices in his mind, driving him mad. He glowered at the portrait hanging crooked on the wall. It was a man in luxurious black clothes, a black wide-brimmed hat, with a white collar rising awkwardly from a chair and holding a lute. A small girl, presumably his daughter, stood in a static pose, staring at the viewer with such a cold, dark expression for such a young child. She wore an ornate woman’s gown and held a white feathered fan clasped in her pale right hand.

The sound of the rest of his men converging on the forecastle deck once more broke Salazar from his reverie. His hunched frame marched to the deck, his cane thumping on the aged wood, medals clinking against each other.

“ _Cualquier cosa?_ ” he questioned, approaching the bow where Lesaro, Santos, and the rest were waiting.

“Nothing, _Capitán,”_ Lesaro replied, “it appears the vessel took too much cannon fire, tried to evade its pursuer in the triangle. We found no evidence of a crew, no bodies, no voices, _nada_.”

Santos shifted his feet. He could not help but think of what horrid fate befell the crew of the ship, so horrid that they appeared to vanish without a trace. No remains, no evidence of survivors… just… silence.

The image of the bloodstained papers flashed in Salazar’s mind. Ever since they set their course to the wreck, he could not shake the feeling of being observed. He clenched his jaw, black liquid staining his lips as he bared his teeth. He was unable to tell if it was all his intuition, or if the Triangle’s madness had finally caught up to them all. He shook it off, chastising himself for his internal weakness. “ _Está resuelto_ , eh?” proclaimed strictly, trying in vain to squash his feelings of discomfort, “there is nothing here, and I do not want to hear another word of this nonsense, _comprenden_?”

The ghostly crew exchanged glances and nodded.

Peno turned from the ship’s bow. For some reason… he froze. His eyes traveled up the main mast, past the main sail, up to the main top. He could only let out a rattling breath, eyes wide and locked onto the wraith that had been watching their every move. He reached for his sword handle-

_Thud._

A pair of tall boots hit the deck, accompanying a uniformed figure in a mask and hood, undaunted by the fall. The elaborate metal mask obscured the full face of the stranger, but beneath it, two otherworldly blue eyes glowed wickedly. Instantly, the army of Salazar’s men swarmed the appearance of the uniformed individual, corroded rapiers and cutlasses poised to strike at any slight movement or sign of hostility. The edge of Lesaro’s blade hovered threateningly under the chin of the ominous figure, above the red, threadbare scarf tie, Santos’ pointed at the ribs and Peno’s at the heart.

As Salazar approached the infamous specter, eyes flashing in temper, the voices started to chuckle darkly… then laugh… then it rose to a chorus of cackles. The mask's permanently stony expression starkly contrasted the echos of maddened laughter erupting from underneath. Red eyes met cold, calculating blue as Salazar began to realize the various intones were coming from the mouth of one source. Again, the haunting female vocal struggled for power, the figure’s chords strained as if it were too small to contain the multitude within it. Even Salazar was disturbed.

“Spanish hospitality!” it exclaimed in faux cheer, unfazed by the horde of swords and staring daggers at Salazar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Cállate!_ = Shut up!  
>  _Oh no, no otra vez!_ = Oh no, not again!  
>  _Que esta pasando?_ = What's going on?  
>  _Oficial_ = Officer  
>  _Teniente_ = Leiutenant  
>  _Un escalofrío_ = A shiver  
>  _Marinero_ = Sailor  
>  _Truco_ = Trick  
>  _Demonios_ = Demons  
>  _Trataremos ese problema en su momento_ = We'll cross that bridge when we get to it (figure of speech)  
>  _Cualquier cosa?_ = Anything?  
>  _Está resuelto_ = It is settled
> 
> The painting referenced is _A Musician and His Daughter_ by Thomas de Keyser (Dutch), 1629  
> The _Zeelandia_ was a Dutch naval vessel built in 1682.  
> An early version of the sea shanty _Coast of High Barbary_ is found in the Stationers’ Register for January 14, 1595 and tells the story of two merchant ships, the George Aloe and the Sweepstake, both sailing to Safee. While the Aloe was anchored the Sweepstake sailed ahead and was attacked by a French vessel. The George Aloe gave chase, defeating the Sweepstake's French attackers and showed no mercy because of the fate of the Sweepstake's crew. The newer lyrics refer to problems European and North American traders had with North African pirates in the later 18th century and early 19th, sparking the Barbary wars. However, I chose it because of the theme of battling pirates.
> 
> And so we are introduced to... someone ;)


	3. Sands of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time and tide wait for no man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is crazy. Many apologies.

> “What strange beings we are! That sitting in Hell at the bottom of the dark, we’re afraid of our own immortality.” -Rumi

“What do you want with my crew?” Salazar seethed. His singed hair and blackened epaulets trailed behind him as he circled the figure like his prey.

“ _De waarheid wil niet altijd gezegd zijn,_ ” the figure responded with sinister smiling eyes. It pushed so dangerously against Santos’ sword that he could feel the resistance of the bones beneath. If he were alive, it would have made Santos’ skin crawl.

“Stop this nonsense, who are you?” Salazar’s voice grew in resentment, lungs hissing.

The individual twitched its fingers. “I am many… the shadow of Azrael… _hostis humani generis… invictus maneo_.” The contours of the figure’s mask reflected the sickly grey glow of the triangle, making it look like a corpse. Salazar took notice of how the eyes were unblinking.

“You are a demon?”

“I am what you will be.”

Salazar physically bristled at this retort. He growled beneath his breath, black bile spilling down his chin.

He had grown exasperated by this distraction. He struck the deck with his rapier.

All at once the figure was pierced and slashed, the tarnished edges of each sword sunk into the body with sickening sounds. However, in place of the usual blood stains, bright cobalt whisps seeped from the wounds with a hiss. The figure gazed down at its pierced form, ghosting its gloved fingertips over the edges of its injuries and new gashes in its tattered uniform, already stained with old blood. The swords withdrew. It let out a strangled chuckle. The crew watched as the wounds quickly sealed shut, the strange mist no longer seeping from its body.

 _So, it is like us_ , Santos thought.

“Hopefully, this isn’t how you greet most women you meet…” she said in mock angst, eyes glinting with madness.

Salazar was slightly taken aback, confused. “You were a sailor on this vessel, no?” he queried with morbid fascination, nudging the woman’s dulled uniform with the tip of his rapier.

“I was… once…” the voices trailed off forlornly.

“Perhaps the Dutch are getting desperate, eh?” Salazar quipped, earning a few empty laughs from his otherworldly band.

The stranger’s head cocked to the side, studying the captain, eyes locked onto his with cold grimness. “Come now… there is no need for ill will among the undead. If you pass through the gates of the hereafter… nothing separates you save whether the handle was warm or not." She paused and took a labored breath as the voices slithered around the crew. “Here, Capitán… the only division is between the living… and the lifeless.”

“Ill will? We are at war!” Lesaro fumed.

She blinked.

“War?” she murmured, “… With _Spanje_?... No, wait, what year is it?” She muttered frantically.

“Seventeen-thirteen,” Santos stated. _I think._

The glow of her eyes dimmed. Salazar saw a sparkle of sorrow as her eyes cast down.

“No… no, no, no, no, no… _dat kan niet kloppen._ ” It couldn’t be that long. She grabbed the sides of her head as if trying to keep it from falling apart, ran her hands down the mask as if it were her own flesh. Her eyes were wide and trained on the boards beneath her, taking in the decrepit state of the decaying wood, trying to rationalize the passage of time, trying to bring the wood back to life. To no avail. The men stepped back from the unsettling scene. Salazar would not admit the small mustard seed of pity in his blackened heart.

Putting two and two together, Salazar scowled and stepped forward. “How long have you been here?” he asked with a hissing breath.

Her eyes shot up, holding his in a death grip, despair pouring from her gaze. She would have cried. If she could. If I remembered how. “I… twenty-three years… so long I’ve been bound to this… _infernal place!_ ” The voices rose with a burst of weary fury, dancing with each other like flames, frame growing heavy with grief. “ _Het getij wacht op niemand... NIEMAND!_ ” she cried. In one swift movement, she grabbed the handle of the blade tucked within her coat, spun around, and stabbed the pillar of the mast in a fit of rage. Her shoulders heaved, each breath an undertaking, head leaned against the wood and other hand balled into a tight fist. Images of blood and death flashed in her mind. The voices within her groaned through gritted teeth.

Salazar handed his rapier to Lesaro. Whoever this woman was, she meant no harm. She was just another prisoner in this wretched realm, mind weathered by the sands of time and whatever curse the triangle bequeathed her. He still did not fully trust her, but he saw no point in blatant antagonism. He gently wrapped his fingers around her shaking hand, prying them from the handle of her dagger. She was right. Dutch or Spanish, it made no difference here. Even if he strongly disliked the Dutch, he hated pirates more.

She inhaled sharply at the contact, pulling her hand away from Salazar’s as if she’d been burned. From beneath her dark hood, the nameless sailor’s blue eyes examined Salazar before quickly looking away.

“Tell me how you came to this place,” he commanded.

______

Salazar sent Peno back with the rest of the men back to the ship, leaving him, Santos, and Lesaro on the _Zeelandia_. They had convened around the table in the captain’s quarters, their incorporeal forms allowing them to sit in the rickety chairs without protest.

“Would you like some wine, brandy, cigars?” she jested. She was met with silence. “…Only teasing… I smoked them all years ago…” she said sadly as she sat down across from the three Spanish navymen with stony countenances. “Where to start…” she pondered, tapping her index finger on the chin of her mask. She studied the map of Salazar’s ashen face as she thought, imagining how regal he looked in life. He sat nobly with a commanding quality, one hand on his cane and the other on his knee. Lesaro was reserved and guarded, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other. Santos sat comfortably with his hands entwined in his lap, trying not to stare. The icy stare of the painted musician's daughter presided over the meeting of spectral sailors.

“I doubt you want to hear about my childhood, it’s not like I remember most of it anyway. My mother and I worked as embroiderers on the edges of the city of _Oldenzaal_. We were not well off by any means, but we were… _hoe zeg je_ … comfortable. I loved my mother to death,” she said with a faraway look. “The day I left to visit distant family in England was the last day we saw each other. On the way back, I dressed as a man. Traveling such a long distance alone as a woman will only land you in places no one wants to be… it turns out trying to disguise as a man achieved the same thing. When I reached port, trying to cross the English channel, I was stopped by British military police who thought I was deserting. I tried to tell them I was just visiting family, but they’d heard that excuse too many times, I spoke English too well, and I didn’t have the papers to prove otherwise. What year was this… it had to be around 1676 because we were at war with England. I was only 16, forced to fight my own brothers. I thought as soon as I got the chance to desert, I would take it… but I didn’t have to. At the tail end of the war, I was shot in the chest. With that, I knew my time in the ranks was over. I was found out and had to leave service… I was taught how to put a uniform on, but no matter how hard I tried I could not take it off, _als je begrijpt wat ik bedoel_. We weren’t allowed to prepare for the horrors of war… sometimes I think it would’ve been easier for that bullet to hit three inches to the left than to leave the battlefield...”

The air in the quarters had changed, it was now heavy and disheartening, but familiar. The three Spaniards were no strangers to the red hand of war. Salazar’s façade had softened somewhat, just enough for her to notice.

“I could not go home… no matter how much it pained me I just couldn’t face my mother. _Godverdomme_.” Her voice cracked. “Now, I wish I had gone back. I was afraid she could see the battlefield behind my eyes… the blood and death, the fire, the terror… it all became a part of me until I was no longer recognizable, it was all I knew.” Salazar noticed the tremor in her right hand and felt a stab of sympathy. War, suffering, and death spared no nation and took no bribes. For a woman to see its horrors firsthand so young…

“I joined the Dutch navy after I was relieved, partly out of revenge… and guilt, trying to forget the fellow countrymen I was forced to… _slaughter_. I lied about my age, so everyone thought I was either a young boy or a late bloomer. I think I was in for ten years before we went to war with France. Up until then, it had just been enforcing maritime law, fighting piracy and busting shady deals. Now, I was back home among the bloodshed and pain. The captain was ordered to travel across the sea to Sint Eustatius in the Caribbean for supplies and intelligence gathered on French activity in the area from our… emissaries. The thing was, the French knew we were coming, and they had the same idea, except they didn’t want to dirty their hands… As we were leaving port, the Lieutenant informed the captain we were being followed by a ship that flew no colors. A pirate ship, the _Hateful Dragon_ , and they were there to take our plans and leave no man alive. The captain was sure we could take them. We had the firepower, we were disciplined, but pirates know nothing of honor in battle.” Salazar hummed in agreement, his crimson eyes flaring. “Wave after wave they boarded our ship… we fought hard. Our captain saw this… cave in the distance. I guess he thought if we went inside the pirates would be too dumb to follow us or lose interest… that fool was trapping us and the pirates knew it, but we were too occupied trying to defend our ship and keep it afloat from the bombardment.

“We did not know what we were sailing into, but the pirates did. As soon as they saw where we were headed, some tried to jump back to their ship, even resorting to jumping overboard. We heard shouts and pleas from the other crew to their captain to turn around… I suppose he was blinded by greed or stubbornness. There were so many dead on the deck… men I grew to love as brothers… that I had to step over to fight for my life. We were trapped. The pirates who stayed on our vessel as we sailed into the triangle, as they called it, were making their way toward the captain. I was locked in a sword fight with two pirate _klootzakken_ … I can still see their rotting grins… whether the stench of death came from them or the corpses was not known to me. I tried so hard to hold the line, to protect my captain, _mijn broers_ … but one of them came up from behind. Everything went cold, I looked down and there was a blade pierced through chest. I didn’t even feel it… it was just there, covered in blood. It withdrew and stabbed through my stomach and twisted before finally leaving my body. The last thing I saw was the outline of the pirates and the blood on my hands before I couldn’t keep my body up anymore and collapsed. My last thoughts were my mother, of home… the sweet smell of tulips… what heaven would look like, as I floated in darkness.

“When I opened my eyes, the _Zeelandia_ had anchored, none of our crew were alive. I saw the captain of the _Hateful Dragon_ in the captain’s quarters with his henchmen. I felt empty, almost like… hunger, but through my whole body, my fingers tingled with it. I felt hollow and I stumbled toward those poor souls. The two that saw me die, they looked at me like _een spook._ I barely noticed the bullet that passed through me. They looked terrified. The captain drew his sword and threatened to take me prisoner, but as I drew closer he stabbed me through the gut with a trembling hand. I took no notice. I pushed the sword deeper as I fed on the fear in his eyes. I wrapped my bare hands around his wretched throat,” she motioned her hands as if he were in front of her now, “and I… drank his soul through my fingertips, I consumed it, it filled my empty veins with glowing life, like... sweet ambrosia. His men watched me in terror as I dropped their cowardly captain’s lifeless body to the floor. They tried to run. It was all a blur… the triangle had turned me into some kind of _verdomde vampier_ that feeds on souls. One by one they satiated my void… becoming part of me. When the appetite disappeared I had realized what I had become, and as soon as the hunger disappeared it returned again more intensely… but I was only surrounded by dead men and an ocean of blood… _ha_!

“I found my captain, dead on the floor of his quarters. His hair was caked in blood and his eyes were glassy. They had taken the plans but never made it past that point. I gave my crew burials at sea, dropping them into the depths below with hushed prayers, wrapped in sheets to preserve their dignity. I wrapped the captain in our colors and tucked a portrait of his wife into his coat. The pirates I merely tossed overboard. I was alone and ravenous with hunger… tortured by the ghosts of war and the souls within me, coursing through my veins. Isolation is the worst friend you can have… the silence starts to speak to you. I tried to die but the triangle would not let me.” A wave of melancholy passed over her eyes, “I went mad with guilt. I don’t deserve to live, but the triangle is a fickle mistress. As years went on, any poor sailors I could get my hands on sated my thirst, taking their lives to stave off my never-ending ouroboros of hunger. It’s always there, gnawing at me.”

Salazar leaned back, taking all the information in. For the first time in a long while, he was swimming with emotion. “It seems we have a common enemy.”

“If I had a drink, I would drink to that,” she stated.

“ _Estoy de acuerdo,_ ” said Lesaro.

Salazar leaned forward, his hair suspended like a charcoal halo. “Do you know anything of a young pirate boy with an unusual compass?”

“Seems after my time. He’s the reason you’re here, I suppose?”

“ _Si,_ ” he replied sharply.

“Pirates deserve no mercy. But the best fighter is never angry, captain.” She leaned forward, putting her elbows in the table, and pointing square at Salazar. “And all the best philosophers were crazy!”

Salazar frowned and leaned back again, studying the masked ghost before him.

“Why the disguise?” he asked.

She sighed and fidgeted with her fingers, trying to find the right words. “One day I… I saw my reflection in the water. The curse had changed me. My eyes… glowed with the soul essence of dead men, trapped beneath my skin. I tried to deny my new nature, I tried to starve myself of my need to remedy the guilt. Washing the blood from my hands was futile, what’s done is done. The old me was dead. I took it from the captain’s desk,” she motioned to the empty display case, “it became my new face. I am a new creation. I have seen the horrors of warfare, the reality of death. The most sinister of all is the delusion of life. Life means nothing but to be reconciled with death.” Despite the glow of her eyes, they had grown dark.

Lesaro’s brow was furrowed. “You never told us your name.”

She tilted her head, looked up at the ceiling, then down again. “Can’t remember it,” she said flatly.

“Well, for now, we will call you _amiga_ , eh?” Salazar said.

“It makes no difference what you call me, at least I’m not alone anymore.”

For the first time since being cursed, Salazar smiled slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _De waarheid wil niet altijd gezegd zijn_ = The truth does not always have to be told.  
>  _... hostis humani generis… invictus maneo._ = Enemy of mankind... I remain unvanquished.  
>  _... dat kan niet kloppen._ = That can't be right.  
>  _Het getij wacht op niemand._ Time and tide wait for no one. (Figure of speech)  
>  _... hoe zeg je..._ = How do you say  
>  _als je begrijpt wat ik bedoel._ = If you know what I mean.  
>  _Godverdomme_ = God damn it.  
>  _klootzakken_ = Bastards  
>  _mijn broers..._ = My brothers  
>  _een spook_ = A ghost  
>  _verdomde vampier_ = Damned vampire  
>  _Estoy de acuerdo_ = I concur.  
> And finally...  
> Amiga means friend.  
> -  
> Franco-Dutch war: (1672-1678)  
> Nine Year’s War: (1688-1697)  
> War of the Spanish Succession (current): (1701-1714)


	4. The Bear and the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated this fic in so long. I was busy with my really fast-paced summer course. I'm leaving to return to my junior year of college in about a week and I'm entering a really tough program, so I will probably be updating really slowly if I ever find the time to write. Also, apologies for this chapter being so short and probably really rushed and terrible ;_;
> 
> Also, I made a Wattpad account, which is linked to my ko-fi where you can support my writing! https://www.wattpad.com/user/vindictas

Despite the woman’s explanation, there was one detail that perplexed Salazar. Her mystifying lightning blue eyes still nurtured a seed of mistrust in his heart. He and his men, they had been ensnared in the triangle by a cursed compass. They could not leave, until the pirate betrayed its cunning nature. They waited on bated breath until the moment of their liberation, so they could complete their mission. Salazar carried the guilt on his slumped, yet commanding stature- the guilt that he had damned his men because of his hubris.

But why was _she_ here?

What _kept_ her here, all this time?

What was under that mask?

Too many questions, all the time in the world. He did not want to bombard her, make her feel like she was being interrogated, risk her becoming closed off and cagey to the first people in twenty-three years that came through the entrance to the cave that she did not kill. Lesaro did not seem to care enough to ask, and Santos left the questioning up to his superiors. Salazar decided to play his cards in due time and pick the needles of answers out of the haystack of her mind. Although she had not revealed the whole truth, she could still be an asset. She could be useful.

Lesaro gently elbowed Salazar, breaking him from his stream of consciousness. He followed Lesaro’s gaze to the woman. She was staring at something over Lesaro’s shoulder. Salazar carefully twisted around, his eyes landing on the strange, awkward painting of the musician and his daughter. He turned back, his eyes lingering on Lesaro, who’s brow was furrowed, and finally returning and resting on the woman. Her eyes had dulled, misted over as if she were somewhere else. Her frame seemed tense, the tremble in her hand returning as she kept her glazed eyes on the painting. Behind the haze, there was something akin to agony, or silent panic in the depths of her eyes.

“ _Amiga,_ ” Salazar said sharply, snapping his fingers in her field of view.

A violent tremor wracked her body as she jumped with a choked gasp of breath. Her eyes burned violently as her eyes settled on Salazar, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She huffed, lowering her gaze and wringing her still slightly trembling hands. When her eyes met Salazar’s again, she seemed to use him to anchor herself. The blaze of her eyes had died down.

“ _Lo siento, amiga_. I- “

“No, no,” she said, trying to hide her wavering voice. “I never come in here. That painting, it… it _suffocates_ me. It’s as if I remember it from somewhere, but I can’t… I can’t remember…” she trailed off. It was almost like she was talking to herself.

Salazar’s gaze softened as he studied her features. She was unlike any woman he had ever met. She was no lady, not even human, but with the aura of mystery surrounding her, Salazar could not help but be intrigued at least. He quickly steeled his resolve, bringing himself to the matter at hand.

“I would speak to my men alone,” he said.

“Of course, captain. You must have much to discuss,” she relinquished. She rose from her seat, adjusting the cutlass at her side before heading out onto the deck of her ship, the tail of her uniform trailing behind. Salazar waited until the sound of her footsteps retreated far enough for his comfort. He glared at the table in front of him, tapping his finger on his cane. Lesaro was the first to speak up.

“What shall you have us do with her, _Capítan_?”

Both Lesaro and Santos gazed at him expectantly as Salazar huffed. If he left the mysterious woman alone on this deserted ship, she would assuredly continue to haunt and distract his crew. And, in secret, he would regret leaving the lonely ghost isolated once more. Both parties shared a deep hatred for pirates and vagabonds. But how would his crew react to a former Dutch mariner joining their ghostly ranks? Their duty was to Spain and honor, undead or not she would be met with suspicion at best. However, Salazar’s word was law. She would be of use to him and his crew.

_And Salazar knew what it was like to feel hopeless and alone._

“She will become one of us.”

Lesaro was incredulous. “But, sir, she’s-“

Salazar faced him. His deep red eyes communicated that this was not open to discussion. His ghostly, singed hair snaked around his head in a halo of smoky waves.

“Keep for friends close, Lesaro,” he uttered, “but keep your enemies closer.”

Salazar rose from the rickety chair, supporting his weight on his cane. He mulled over his thoughts. She was not their enemy, but it would take a while to convince his men otherwise. Especially one with a certain hatred for the Dutch.

The trio exited the abandoned quarters. The woman was looking over the deck of the ship, her dark cowl obscuring her visage. Her ghostly overcoat hung a little loose on her frame, and Salazar could see her gloved hand rested on the hilt of her cutlass. She was shorter than the men, but her posture conveyed the air of a soldier. Her chilling words echoed in Salazar’s mind. _I have seen the horrors of warfare, the reality of death… I am the shadow of Azrael…_

Salazar tapped his cane loudly on the wood. The uniformed woman turned, Salazar once again seeing her glowing blue eyes once smoldering beneath her silver mask. She purposefully stepped slowly toward the three Spanish mariners, before stopping an arm’s length away from Salazar. She stared unblinking at him.

“You will come with us. You will help us in due time, to hunt for the _Sparrow_.”

It was a statement, not a question.

The woman’s eyes moved to Lesaro’s hand, which was gripping the hilt of his sword beneath his coat. Santos’ eyes flickered between Salazar, Lesaro, and the Dutch ghost. The tension between the apparitions grew as the woman’s blazing blue eyes glared at Lesaro’s hand, as if to say, _Go ahead, see what happens_.

After considerable silence, she faced Salazar again. “If you were expecting resistance, you will not find it with me.”

Salazar raised his eyebrows. He swore he saw a hint of a smile behind her eyes.

“Good.” He swiftly turned on his heels, his men following in his footsteps.

The four soldiers dropped to the dark, watery floor. Their incorporeal forms tread the lugubrious sea back to the _la Maria Silenciosa_. Beneath the black, glassy water, grotesque monsters lurked. Colossal tentacles undulated in the dark depths. Murderous mermaids darted through their lightless environments in search of human flesh, their tails glittering coldly. Bodies and bones of those long-forgotten lay rotting on the seafloor, covered in barnacles and lamprey. The hungry beasts below watched the four sailors traverse the waters, leaving ripples in their wake. From beneath their feet, groans bellowed and shook the waters periodically.

The woman was flanked by Lesaro and Santos who eyed her cautiously once and a while, while Salazar watched them all from behind, trailing ominously with a limp. She could feel his gaze on her, studying her, _dissecting her_. Salazar was taking his time, examining the woman’s tattered uniform. It was littered with holes and blood stains, some parts threadbare from the passage of time, but still retained its imperial quality. It was a dulled blue, the gold decorative threads subdued, but still catching glimpses of light against its dull background.

The crew reached the gaunt hull of Salazar’s ship, towering above them like a sleeping giant.

“Welcome,” Salazar rasped with a black grin and a bow, “to _the Silent Mary_.”

Something within her stirred.

___

Their weightless forms scaled the side of the skeletal ship with ease. Salazar instructed the woman to stay behind him and let him do the talking. The woman’s gloved fingers gripped the splintered wood as she hauled herself onto the deck of the ship, seeing a flock of men greet the return of their Captain. As her boots landed firmly on the deck, a deathly silence fell over the crew. She took in the sight of the crew, in various states of ghostly disintegration. Gasps rose from the men who had not yet seen her, the ones who had gasped at the fact that she was alive and on the deck of _the Silent Mary_. All eyes were on the blue-eyed devil, the rumor now standing before them. Various whispers of _demonio_ and _diablo_ echoed across the deck. Some of the men even drew their swords, poised to strike. Peno had been in the middle of informing Magda of their otherworldly encounter. Magda’s attention turned to the newcomer, eyes narrowing not at the cold mask, but the naval uniform.

“ _Silence!_ ” Salazar commanded, rapping his cane on the planks. His voice rasped, but he did not lose his ability to bark orders across the massive vessel. “Are you unaware of your own condition? The living would call us demons and devils if they laid eyes on us! We are all undead, demons in the eyes of men! But as it turns out, we were not alone.” The uniformed apparition stepped forward, still being wary to stay well away from the horde of ethereal Spanish mariners, the electric blue eyes scanning the crew.

“She is cursed, like us… also killed by the hands of _pirates_.” He spat the particular word with a mixture of blood and bile. The gloomy crew exchanged glances, listening to their Captain’s words. “She has agreed to join us on our mission, to hunt that dirty pirate who damned us all.”

Officer Magda weaved his way threw the undead, earning Salazar’s attention, as well as the woman in Dutch naval attire. Her eyes widened at the palpable distaste of his aura.

“With all due respect, _Capítan_ ,” he seethed, “what is the meaning of this?”

Salazar physically bristled.

“Bringing a _woman_ on board,” he growled, stomping up to the woman and gripping her coat in balled fists, bringing his bared teeth close to her masked face. “A _Dutch_ woman no less… dressed up as a soldier. _Ha!_ You don’t even know who she _is! She's a liar!_ ” He spit on the ground next to her boots, looking back up at her with a villainous glare.

Magda felt the rusted tip of Salazar’s sword press against the charred skin of his neck. He glared sideways at Salazar, hands still tightly gripping the uniform’s collar. The woman was staring amusedly at Magda’s outburst. “You cannot harm what is already _dead_ ,” she hissed.

“Like hell I can,” Magda growls, inching closer to the woman, pushing her against the creaking rails, his skin starting to crack around Salazar’s rapier.

“ _Magda_ ,” Salazar uttered warningly, “you would do well to stand down. Everything will be explained in due time.” His calm voice was laced with a silent threat. Magda glanced once more between his captain and the Dutch sailor before pushing the woman, releasing her collar, turning on his heels and storming through the crowd of ghosts who witnessed the normally collected Magda’s rage. _Dutch beast_ , he muttered under his breath angrily. Seeing Magda touch and speak to the woman in such a way filled Salazar with an indescribable rage that he barely kept contained as he watched his retreating back. 

And so began the tango between the bear and the wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who put ants down your trousers, Magda? >->


End file.
